Divorced and Free

Last Monday I received the letter I had been waiting for; my divorce absolute certificate.  I received it with a mixture of emotions, none of which were regret or sadness.  I wasn`t euphorically happy, I wasn`t overwhelmingly sad;  I was emotionally settled and accepting. 

 My marriage was akin to going on a long arduous hike - the start was pleasant and my hopes were high of reaching the destination in one piece.  I knew there would be struggles, potholes and times when I would feel completely lost and hopeless, but I believed that the journey would be worth it and and that we would walk the path together avoiding obstacles, strengthening our relationship. Sometimes as we walked on level ground I believed things were going to be okay, and then, from nowhere, would appear a hill for us to climb.  Gradually I realised I was climbing the hill alone, he was happy to stay at the bottom, in the gravel and the mud and when I reached the top, there was no-one there to celebrate with, no-one to to share my achievement.  I guess I am a sentimentalist and romanticist and by the end of the journey, these traits were stretched to breaking point and eventually splintered and shattered along with any dreams of happiness and contentment.  

I wept too many tears within the marriage to weep again at its closure.  I wanted and needed the closure as the alternative was too painful and destructive to consider.  The continuing over-powering sadness, frustrations and despair I experienced whilst I fought to save my non-functioning relationship totally drained me both psychologically and emotionally, leaving scars deeper than the deepest crater. 

I suppose the over-riding emotion I now feel is one of relief that I have infact survived.  I thank God for giving me the strength to do what I had to do and rewarding me with my sanity.

Nearly Christmas

Things aren`t great at the moment.  But then, it`s nearly Christmas. 
My car is sick, keeps overheating, so I am driving constantly aware and fearful of the little black needle on the dashboard sliding over to the right - to the red zone!  Its frightening how quickly the car heats up and how little time I have to rectify the situation.  I have no time - I must pull over before steam seeps out of the bonnet, escaping into the cold winter air, indicating disaster. 

My ex has decided to play Santa to our son after an absence of months!

The credit crunch has hold of me in a very tight grip!

.......and just to make my misery complete, my crown has once again dislodged itself from my tooth socket and is in need of immediate attention!

And - it`s nearly Christmas!

Post Natal

Works of art and poetry. Copyright Copyright 2009 Jsg Creations/Jsj Creations. All Rights Reserved. All photos, text and artwork are the property of Jsj Creations. Please do not copy, reproduce or use without permission.


"You`re suffering from depression" the doctor said to me
"Lets hope it doesnt last long - we`ll have to wait and see"

"It`s not a rare occurence after giving birth, your hormones have gone haywire - you`ll soon be down to earth".

"Forget about the cleaning - concentrate on Cain

the dusting can be left for now, you`ll soon be well again".

Involve the other members of the family in your task

delegate the household chores, dont wait for them to ask".

"Ignore the little doubts you have, i`m sure that Dad will cope

otherwise he`ll fob him off and you wont have a hope"

We`ll have to watch your heart rate, your pressure`s rather high
but you dont need to worry - we know the reason why".


"Dont feel like you`re a prisoner, take baby for a walk
there`s always the Health Visitor who will come and talk

She`s seen it all before, you know, she`ll fill you will advice
appear all bright and cheerful, be caring and..... so nice"

She`ll point out any problems, have all the answers too

tell you what you`re doing wrong without belittling you"

"Have you considered counselling or would you rather wait to see if this depression will pass and put you straight?"
I cant prescribe you tablets (breastfeeding Cain, u see)

perhaps when you have weaned him you should come to me"

"Remember, you`re important! It`s easy to forget - run around for everyone! you`ll only fuss and fret"
"See me early next week, we`ll discuss what we can do

to get you on your feet again - to make you feel brand new".

Eden Rose

At last she came!
In the early hours, as I paced constantly,
alone in my kitchen
she arrived
amid raptuous applause and monumental excersion,
in frenzied excitement, trepidation and anticipation.

At last she came!
Slithered from her mother`s womb onto the once white paper sheet
between quivering wet thighs and stains best forgotten
 under bright flourescent lights
to live her life with us in this world.

At last she came!
To be whisked up by foreign hands, strong and secure
as they checked for abnormalities
blemishes, anything to label her imperfect.
Air passages cleared by probing fingers,
limbs examined
digits counted - all present and correct.

At last she came!
Her first full-blooded cry gratefully received by all
Placed hurriedly onto her mother`s chest to seek out warmth
and familiarity
while medical procedures continue to relieve mother of
her internal life-line.

At last she came!
As hours passed and doubts developed
fears grew, irrational thoughts surfaced
when would she come!

At last she came!
My Granddaughter Eden Rose

My Daughter in Labour

My youngest daughter is in labour as I sit and type. My day today and the night before has been peppered with unwanted, wild thoughts and strangulated moments of what can only be described as "blind panic" at the thought of her having to go through what I went through many years ago, to give birth. Purposely I arranged to meet up with friends who I knew would be capable of focussing my mind on other things in a bid to reduce and calm my increasing stress levels. It worked, I enjoyed the chat and tea and for a very short while was able to feel slightly normal again.

My daughter kept her promise to inform and update me of various procedures she went through before, during and after the inducement of labour for her first child. The tinkling sound of each text message received from her brought excitement and anticipation. Secretly I hoped I would read "She`s here Mum!" - but not yet. I must wait.

Selfishly I wanted it to be over before it began. At some points in the long day I allowed my own fears to envelope me, to send me spinning in a spiral of fear and trepidation. Uncontrollable envisoned horrors swirled around in my head until I slammed the psychological door, shutting them out, not permitting them to poison my frantic mind.

I know I must rest, she says she is resting despite being in labour. I am so proud of how together she is - why cant I be?

They so want this baby. They have planned, prepared and practised their parenting ideas to perfection. The room is ready, the cot is ready, the clothes are ready, the home is ready, they are ready!

Tommorrow will come and with it the child they so want; so deserve, to complete them as a truly wonderful couple, who will share their bubble of contentment and happiness and I must be grateful that my daughter has chosen so well and is about to join the most blessed and sacred club of all - Motherhood.

Surplus to requirements as a mother

My youngest daughter is expecting her first baby.  She has been blessed with the ability to conceive and satisfactorily carry and nurture a new life for nine months in her womb. Each month has brought us excitably closer to the day when she will give birth and fulfil her dream of starting a family of her own.
Only one problem - for me - where do I fit in her new family?
 I must admit I have leant on her many times in the future for her wisdom, intelligence and sensibility, allowing her to ease and solve my various difficulties in her "no nonsense" manner.  I have relied on her too much when I have needed financial and emotional rescue.  She has not only pulled me from the wreckage but pointed and steered me in the direction of understanding and salvation.
I call her my angel and my conscience.  She is the sugar in my tea, my port in a storm, my knowledge and common-sense when I am lost in my turbulent world of contradiction, naivity and mistrust.
As the time draws closer to the most important day of her life, I want to be there; I need to be there.  I want to hold her hand, mop her brow, tell her not to panic, assure her that it will all be worth it when her precious baby enters the world and completes the happy contented world she has built with her husband.
But, I am surplus to requirements.  Only one person is allowed in the Maternity Unit and of course she has chosen her wonderful husband.  I planned to go regardless of the new rules imposed due to fears of the spread of swine flu.  I was prepared to argue my way in if need be, state my case as the prospective maternal grandmother.  Two of my friends have offered to have my son while I awaited the arrival in the hospital, but she doesnt want me there.  She doesnt want me to cause a stir, a scene.  She doesnt want to be worrying about me making a nuisance of myself and upsetting the hospital staff.

I feel surplus to requirements; useless, unwanted, hopeless, hurt so bad I have a deep ache in the pit of my stomach.  I have to be there!
Am I being incredibly selfish?  How can I stay away knowing my daughter is in pain, crying with pain, frightened!  I just cant!  Shouldnt she have her mother with her - why doesnt she want her mother with her? 
 I need to understand this - but its not all about me, is it?
 God help me!

Abuse is not always physical.

Extract from "Acceptance" written by Jan Cain.

We stood in the kitchen.
The boys played noisily in the garden.
The spring sunshine brightened the room as it streamed in through kitchen window.
I liked helping Mum with the chores in the kitchen, being her little helper. I hoped, desperately, to bond with her.
Suddenly, she turned to me

“When you are in the darkroom with Dad, what do you do?”
I answered truthfully
“Dad shows me how to make pictures”.
“Oh…he does, does he?”
“Anything else?” she asked, accusingly.

I was too young to understand the implications and inference of her probing and replied in all innocence
“No”.
“Does Dad touch you?”
“Er…no Mum, he doesn’t”
“Are you sure?”
I could sense her growing angst.

“Yes Mum, I`m sure”

I could feel panic within and fumbled for words to convince her I was telling the truth.
Why would she not believe me? Why did she always think I was lying?
She was my mother and I loved her, why would I lie?

“You must do something in there!” she raged
“Tell me!”
Saliva shot out of her angry mouth.
“You are a little Liar!”

I trembled with fear as I recognised the onset of her metamorphosis into frightening, intimidating witch. My mouth dried, my tongue stuck to my palate, my lips dehydrated, as my heart rate quickened. The wart on her chin appeared to grow to huge proportions the angrier she became. Her lips creased into a malevolent grimace, as more and more accusations were hissed vehemently at me.

“Next time he asks you to go in there with him, you are to say NO….do you hear?”
She spat at me.
“Now get out of my kitchen!”

I hurriedly joined my brothers in the garden. My spirits once again broken, my mind confused and puzzled.

I was never told her reasons for the ban and was deeply saddened to never be allowed the pleasure of sharing my step-father`s passion for photography again.

That night, when the boys were snug in their beds, the curtains pulled and I was close to sleep, I heard her steps on the stairs and knew I was going to be punished until the early hours of the morning.